


tell me something nice (like flowers and blue skies)

by icemachine



Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e13 Flex Patrol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 12:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20948348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine
Summary: People try to comfort one another. It’s what humanity does, he’s observed, and it’s what Flex needs in this moment, so Keeg places a hand in the middle of Flex’s back and pulls him in closer, tighter. He doesn’t seem to mind, Flex won’t let go of him, but he’s not crying anymore.“You’re going to be okay,” Keeg says. “It will get easier… eventually.”“Please don’t go."(Or: Flex needs a distraction from his mourning, Keeg is touch starved, and maybe they can help each other.)





	tell me something nice (like flowers and blue skies)

Larry falls asleep the minute he presses himself into his bed, bandages unraveled and in a bloody pile on the floor; almost dying can do that to you, Keeg supposes, almost dying will rip the energy  _ right  _ out of you, exhaust you, turn you into a tired, mangled thing. It is, ironically, probably the best sleep Larry has gotten in ages. Despite the fact that tomorrow they’ll be facing Mr. Nobody, despite the fact that they could  _ die  _ tomorrow, despite the fact that their fates are unknown… Larry sleeps well.

Keeg considers his dreams and decides not to interfere. He deserves some autonomy. Larry was ready to  _ die for him.  _ Larry was ready to give up his life for Keeg’s freedom—

_ what do you think will happen to you if your host dies _

_ I expect to see you when I ask to see you _

_ no— _

_ they can’t relive that again— _

Larry was ready to give up his  _ life  _ for Keeg’s freedom, and there was a gun pointed at Larry Trainor’s unconscious body, and Keeg was threatened with Larry’s death once upon a time and thought

_ It doesn’t matter. Death would be better than this. For both of us. _

Larry was willing to die for him, but they’re inextricable now; something has changed, and Keeg is not whole without Larry, just as Larry is not whole without Keeg. They cannot continue to fight it. The concept of freedom means nothing when it comes at the cost of Larry Trainor’s death.

It’s sickening.

It’s sickening; at first he thinks it is Larry wailing, but that’s impossible, and he  _ knows  _ this sound, he knows it, it shatters him in the flashbacks—

Flex used to cry quite frequently, in the ANT Farm, and Keeg always wondered why the anguish seemed to fade over time; now, of course, he knows that it was caused by the growing amnesia, but back then - the only person on Earth who had showed Keeg kindness stopped speaking to him, and stopped living,  _ and stopped entirely _ . _ Flex Mentallo, man of muscle mystery, nice to meet you too  _ became an eternal void of hopelessness, and it  _ hurt,  _ it hurt, in every way possible. And now he’s crying again, reverting, igniting the hurt once more.

He can’t do this all night. He can’t do it again. Flex is  _ screaming,  _ now, his voice pulsing through the manor, and Keeg  _ cannot do this,  _ his body is floating down to Flex’s room, a forceful magnetic pull - he can’t stop it, he can’t help himself.

Flex doesn’t seem to notice him. He has a pillow pressed into his face, and he’s underneath the blanket of a twin bed that he is entirely too big for. The sheets are wet, and Flex’s body is convulsing slightly, every few seconds an unexpected, fast movement.

Keeg feels as if there is someone carving into his form, creating an endless wound, an endless fall into despair with no surface, no light, nothing to keep the sickness from spilling into the room.

So he takes the pillow off of Flex’s face. They can start there.

“Go away,” he says. “Please, just… go away. I want to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I want to be  _ alone, _ ” Flex repeats.

“Yes, because you’re doing  _ so  _ well on your own.”

He looks like he’s going to blow up in anger, for one small sliver of a second, until he just starts to cry harder, his body shaking harder.

“They took her from me. I finally - I  _ finally  _ got her back and I… I killed her. I killed her.”

“ _ You  _ didn’t kill her,” Keeg tells him, trying to make his voice soft, trying to make  _ something  _ about his existence gentle. “They did. Don’t blame yourself, there’s no possible way you could have known what would happen.”

“I loved Dolores,” he says. “She was the love of my life. My everything.”

“I know.”

“Have you ever loved someone like that?”

Keeg stops. He can only think of Larry - he’s the only person Keeg knows, he’s the only person Keeg has  _ ever  _ known - but they aren’t like Flex and Dolores, they don’t  _ love  _ each other in that way, and  _ love,  _ in Keeg’s mind, is a cryptic term regardless. Does he care about Larry? Yes. Does he love Larry? Maybe, who knows, but not like  _ that.  _ If his fond feelings can even be called  _ love,  _ it is on a different realm than the romantic love Flex and Dolores had. If Keeg knew what family was like, he would use that term for their bond, but he doesn’t understand  _ anything  _ in this moment, he only knows that he can see his attachment to Flex intensifying, and  _ that  _ could be called lo—

No. No, it cannot be called that. It is a cryptic and useless term, only applicable for a mutual connection, so it can’t be called lov—

“No. But I know how much you cared about Dolores. Would she want you to blame yourself over this, or would she want you to heal?”

Flex stops to consider this, pauses for - too long, staring up into Keeg’s eyes in a way that can only spark discomfort. “She wouldn’t want me to blame myself.”

“What do you think she would want for you, Flex?”

“I… I think she’d want me to be happy,” he says, and when he sits up the tears start to spill out again. “But I don’t know how I can ever be happy again after what happened.”

“I believe—”

He’s interrupted by Flex’s arms; he’s holding Keeg, now, crying against Keeg’s frame, and Keeg feels an indescribable emotion, something that no other being in the universe has ever felt, something that he cannot even put words to.

People try to comfort one another. It’s what humanity  _ does,  _ he’s observed, and it’s what Flex needs in this moment, so Keeg places a hand in the middle of Flex’s back and pulls him in closer, tighter. He doesn’t seem to mind, Flex won’t let go of him, but he’s not crying anymore.

“You’re going to be okay,” Keeg says. “It will get easier… eventually.”

“Please don’t go,” he says, and then: “I mean, don’t let Larry die, but… you’re right. I can’t be alone. “I need you.”

“I’ll stay if that’s what you really want, but—”

“It is what I want,” he says. “I don’t trust myself right now.”

The thought of Flex hurting himself crosses Keeg’s mind, and it twists him, he knows that if he had a human body he would feel nauseous; he cannot let this happen, he can’t let Flex escape the ANT Farm just to fall back into self-torture. Keeg has had enough of self-torture. He’s seen what it does to Larry, he’s felt it, it can’t happen to Flex.

“I won’t go anywhere.”

“Thank you.”

He falls out of the air and rests on the ground and pretends like it was voluntary. Flex still won’t release him. He could pass through Flex, probably, but that wouldn’t bring anything good.

“You’re tingly,” Flex says; it isn’t sudden, but it is shocking, because his voice sounds calm rather than horrified.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You just feel strange.” Flex gasps lightly. “Not in a bad way.”

“Considering the fact that I don’t even know how you’ve managed to touch me for this long, I guess that’s to be expected.”

“Huh?”

He’s said too much. “I don’t think anyone has ever had direct physical contact with me. I always assumed my energy composition was offensive to human touch.”

“Trust me, it’s not.”

“That’s good, then, I suppose.”

He feels Flex’s grip on him loosen, and - and then - and  _ then  _ the unmistakable feeling of Flex’s lips brushing against his neck.

“Oops, sorry,” he says. “I was trying to… wipe my tears.”

_ It felt good,  _ Keeg thinks. He doesn’t say it out loud. He should, but it is a terrifying thought, he only knows that he wants Flex to keep touching him, he didn’t know that human touch could be this alluring, he didn’t know it could feel like  _ this.  _ Keeg doesn’t know how he’s capable of feeling sensation, but it’s good, it’s so  _ good,  _ he feels like he’d melt if he was able to do so, right here in Flex’s arms.

“It’s fine.”

Flex pulls back, slightly. His gaze is directly fixed on Keeg’s eyes, now, and his expression is unreadable. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop now. I don’t know what got into me, I didn’t mean to just… cling onto you like that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, and you don’t have to stop.” He doesn’t mean to say this; it simply flows through him without control, and Flex seems to take it as an invitation. He’s touching Keeg again, with  _ purpose,  _ with some kind of desperate need to feel again, and Keeg is willing to give him  _ anything  _ in this moment.

He’s pressing his lips into Keeg’s neck again, harder, his hands on Keeg’s back like Keeg is a tangible being & Keeg doesn’t have lips but Flex somehow knows all the soft places on Keeg’s “body” that, when touched, make Keeg feel both famished and satiated. It’s as if they’ve done this before, as if this is not born out of a desire to ignore agony. Keeg has too much pride, still, to let Flex know exactly how he’s affecting his demeanor, but that pride is slipping with every skin stroke, every minute of deepened contact.

Keeg has never felt human, and has never wanted to feel human, but currently he feels like everything  _ but  _ himself - he feels like something real, something that exists outside of Larry Trainor, something with meaning and a reason for existing. He’s helping Flex, he’s distracting Flex from his suffering, and right now he exists to touch and be touched, to do the cryptic act of loving. 

He’s something  _ new.  _ Still powerful, still foreign, but corporeal. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> yeah.   
anyway , feedback is appreciated as well as kudos, etc, i am crying over them, etc


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